Ancient Poems [38]
(8) stood so near, No time to do it she could find: So that being almost dead with grief, Away she went without relief.
Tears from her eyes did flow amain, And she full oft would sighing say, 'My constant love, alas! is slain, And to pale death, become a prey: Oh, Hannah, Hannah thou art base; Thy pride will turn to foul disgrace!'
She spent her time in godly prayers, And quiet rest did from her fly; She to her friends full oft declares, She could not live if he did die: Thus she continued till the bell, Began to sound his fatal knell.
And when she heard the dismal sound, Her godly book she cast away, With bitter cries would pierce the ground. Her fainting heart 'gan to decay: She to her pensive mother said, 'I cannot live now he is dead.'
Then after three short minutes' space, As she in sorrow groaning lay, A gentleman (9) did her embrace, And mildly unto her did say, 'Dear melting soul be not so sad, But let your passion be allayed.'
Her answer was, 'My heart is burst, My span of life is near an end; My love from me by death is forced, My grief no soul can comprehend.' Then her poor heart it waxed faint, When she had ended her complaint.
For three hours' space, as in a trance, This broken-hearted creature lay, Her mother wailing her mischance, To pacify her did essay: But all in vain, for strength being past, She seemingly did breathe her last.
Her mother, thinking she was dead, Began to shriek and cry amain; And heavy lamentations made, Which called her spirit back again; To be an object of hard fate, And give to grief a longer date.
Distorted with convulsions, she, In dreadful manner gasping lay, Of twelve long hours no moment free, Her bitter groans did her dismay: Then her poor heart being sadly broke, Submitted to the fatal stroke.
When things were to this issue brought, Both in one grave were to he laid: But flinty-hearted Hannah thought, By stubborn means for to persuade, Their friends and neighbours from the same, For which she surely was to blame.
And being asked the reason why, Such base objections she did make, She answered thus scornfully, In words not fit for Billingsgate: 'She might have taken fairer on - Or else be hanged:' Oh heart of stone!
What hell-born fury had possessed, Thy vile inhuman spirit thus? What swelling rage was in thy breast, That could occasion this disgust, And make thee show such spleen and rage, Which life can't cure nor death assuage?
Sure some of Satan's minor imps, Ordained were to be thy guide; To act the part of sordid pimps, And fill thy heart with haughty pride; But take this caveat once for all, Such devilish pride must have a fall.
But when to church the corpse was brought, And both of them met at the gate; What mournful tears by friends were shed, When that alas it was too late, - When they in silent grave were laid, Instead of pleasing marriage-bed.
You parents all both far and near, By this sad story warning take; Nor to your children be severe, When they their choice in love do make; Let not the love of cursed gold, True lovers from their love withhold.
Ballad: THE CRAFTY LOVER; OR, THE LAWYER OUTWITTED.
Tune of I LOVE THEE MORE AND MORE.
[THIS excellent old ballad is transcribed from a copy printed in Aldermary church-yard. It still continues to be published in the old broadside form.]
Of a rich counsellor I write, Who had one only daughter, Who was of youthful beauty bright; Now mark what follows after. (10) Her uncle left her, I declare, A sumptuous large possession; Her father he was to take care Of her at his discretion.
She had ten thousand pounds a-year, And gold and silver ready, And courted was by many a peer, Yet none could gain this lady. At length a squire's youngest son In private came a-wooing, And when he had her favour won, He feared his utter ruin.
The youthful lady straightway cried, 'I must confess I love thee, Though lords and knights I have denied, Yet none I prize above thee: Thou art a jewel in my eye, But here,' said she, 'the care is, - I fear you will be doomed to die For
Tears from her eyes did flow amain, And she full oft would sighing say, 'My constant love, alas! is slain, And to pale death, become a prey: Oh, Hannah, Hannah thou art base; Thy pride will turn to foul disgrace!'
She spent her time in godly prayers, And quiet rest did from her fly; She to her friends full oft declares, She could not live if he did die: Thus she continued till the bell, Began to sound his fatal knell.
And when she heard the dismal sound, Her godly book she cast away, With bitter cries would pierce the ground. Her fainting heart 'gan to decay: She to her pensive mother said, 'I cannot live now he is dead.'
Then after three short minutes' space, As she in sorrow groaning lay, A gentleman (9) did her embrace, And mildly unto her did say, 'Dear melting soul be not so sad, But let your passion be allayed.'
Her answer was, 'My heart is burst, My span of life is near an end; My love from me by death is forced, My grief no soul can comprehend.' Then her poor heart it waxed faint, When she had ended her complaint.
For three hours' space, as in a trance, This broken-hearted creature lay, Her mother wailing her mischance, To pacify her did essay: But all in vain, for strength being past, She seemingly did breathe her last.
Her mother, thinking she was dead, Began to shriek and cry amain; And heavy lamentations made, Which called her spirit back again; To be an object of hard fate, And give to grief a longer date.
Distorted with convulsions, she, In dreadful manner gasping lay, Of twelve long hours no moment free, Her bitter groans did her dismay: Then her poor heart being sadly broke, Submitted to the fatal stroke.
When things were to this issue brought, Both in one grave were to he laid: But flinty-hearted Hannah thought, By stubborn means for to persuade, Their friends and neighbours from the same, For which she surely was to blame.
And being asked the reason why, Such base objections she did make, She answered thus scornfully, In words not fit for Billingsgate: 'She might have taken fairer on - Or else be hanged:' Oh heart of stone!
What hell-born fury had possessed, Thy vile inhuman spirit thus? What swelling rage was in thy breast, That could occasion this disgust, And make thee show such spleen and rage, Which life can't cure nor death assuage?
Sure some of Satan's minor imps, Ordained were to be thy guide; To act the part of sordid pimps, And fill thy heart with haughty pride; But take this caveat once for all, Such devilish pride must have a fall.
But when to church the corpse was brought, And both of them met at the gate; What mournful tears by friends were shed, When that alas it was too late, - When they in silent grave were laid, Instead of pleasing marriage-bed.
You parents all both far and near, By this sad story warning take; Nor to your children be severe, When they their choice in love do make; Let not the love of cursed gold, True lovers from their love withhold.
Ballad: THE CRAFTY LOVER; OR, THE LAWYER OUTWITTED.
Tune of I LOVE THEE MORE AND MORE.
[THIS excellent old ballad is transcribed from a copy printed in Aldermary church-yard. It still continues to be published in the old broadside form.]
Of a rich counsellor I write, Who had one only daughter, Who was of youthful beauty bright; Now mark what follows after. (10) Her uncle left her, I declare, A sumptuous large possession; Her father he was to take care Of her at his discretion.
She had ten thousand pounds a-year, And gold and silver ready, And courted was by many a peer, Yet none could gain this lady. At length a squire's youngest son In private came a-wooing, And when he had her favour won, He feared his utter ruin.
The youthful lady straightway cried, 'I must confess I love thee, Though lords and knights I have denied, Yet none I prize above thee: Thou art a jewel in my eye, But here,' said she, 'the care is, - I fear you will be doomed to die For